


Though I'm far away, I know I'll stay right there with you

by Orchestralien



Category: Coraline (2009)
Genre: Coraline has derealization, F/M, Nightmares, Trauma Comfort, good healthy taking about your issues, two darn good cups of hot chocolate, walkie talkie conversations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 00:41:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29751495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Orchestralien/pseuds/Orchestralien
Summary: Even after the Other Mother is long gone and the Other World is nothing but a memory, Coraline remains haunted by the events of that winter. One night, her nightmares become too much for her to handle alone. Luckily, she's got Wybie.**Title from Two Door Cinema Club - Sun**
Relationships: Coraline Jones/Wybie Lovat, if you squint a little, like a precursor to a relationship
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	Though I'm far away, I know I'll stay right there with you

It was dark. Coraline was turning around, spinning rapidly, searching for any source of light, anything for her eyes to latch on to, but there was nothing. She kept revolving, but she couldn’t feel her feet moving. A skitter across the pitch-dark floor, then, suddenly, a hand. An all-too-familiar hand. Long, nearly-mechanical fingers attached to a bony, wretched hand. It came at her fast, too soon for Coraline to do anything but widen her eyes in horror and open her mouth to scream. Her wide eyes could still see nothing but the hand creeping now closer and closer. Her mouth made no sound as she fought with her body to yell, to cry out, to scream for help. The hand lept to grab onto her, and as Coraline tried to run away from the hand, she looked down to find her legs encased in layers and layers of sticky spider silk that clung to her like a vice. She was trapped. She was done for. Naught but a fly on a web. The hand caught her webbed leg, dragging her down, down, down, into a pool of inky black. All the while, Coraline continued to scream with no sound and wriggle with no movements. She felt the hand climb, now moving upwards, preparing to cocoon her in the nothingness that she had been sucked into. She was being wrapped, tighter now, so tight that she felt her breath being sucked away from her, her life seeping out between the few shallow puffs she had left. Her heart was beating faster, faster, she was nearly covered, she was nearly gone—

—Coraline nearly bolted out of her bed. Her heart was pounding a mile-a-minute as she gasped for air in shallow, fast breaths. She was sweating heavily, even in the chill of autumn. Her hands were tense and rigid, holding onto the edges of her bedsheets, clinging on for dear life. She had to wrench her hands away with all the force she could muster to release them from their hold. Slow and calculating, she sat up straight, moving her hands to turn on her bedside lamp, before returning them to the top of her covers. After a minute spent focusing her energy on quelling her rapid heartbeat and steadying her breathing, Coraline took a moment to look around her room. It was _her_ room, wasn’t it? The still-white walls, the plain bed frame, the fireplace, it all seemed to be her room. But how could she be sure? How could she be certain it wasn’t some trick of the Other Mother? Coraline’s hands tightened their grip on her —no, the— covers. There, on the shelves, had that plush always been there? Was that just another toy, or could it be one of Her spies? This room, was it meant to replicate her own?

Coraline’s train of thought was only stopped when she had to divert her focus to take in a large breath of air. The spots she hadn’t noticed in the corners of her vision were starting to dissipate. Everything felt far away. This room she was in felt off. The harder she tried to focus on the room’s decorations and features, the more everything blended together. She tried to find the plush she had focused her attention on before, a small black cat stuffed animal Wybie had gotten her because it reminded him of Cat. Coraline scanned her eyes over where she thought it had been, but in place of the small plushie stood an abnormally large one. Looking harder, Coraline realized that the entire shelf was seeming to grow, morphing and pulsing along with the beating of her heart. 

She was beginning to hyperventilate now. Coraline knew that this was her room. The Other Mother was long gone, Her last remnants laying in a seemingly bottomless well. Her room looked too unnatural, though. Things seemed almost two-dimensional. Fake. A cardboard cutout of her room. A miniature dollhouse set. The harder she tried to concentrate on her surroundings, the blurrier and vaguer things became. Before long, nothing at all looked correct. But this was her room, it had to be. She wasn’t in the Other World anymore. She had to prove it to herself, somehow. Things were ok... things were normal, she just had to find a way to make sure. 

Wybie. She needed Wybie. She needed to hear his voice. He was the Wybie that talks. He would talk to her, and then everything would be ok.

For her birthday, Wybie had purchased these beat-up walkie-talkies from some garage sale somewhere and fixed them up so that he and Coraline could communicate. Even through her hazy sight, Coraline could observe the moon hanging prominently outside, evincing either a very late hour or a very early one. All she could do was radio over and hope that he would pick up. He would. He had to pick up.

She grabbed the walkie-talkie from her bedside table and swallowed down her doubts, throat thick with fear and dry from screaming. No- the screaming had been a dream. She wasn’t dreaming anymore. She cleared her throat, hoping that her voice would not betray the panic rising in her stomach.

“Wybie?” She called out. _Please, Wybie. Please pick up._

\---

Wyborn Lovat had never been a deep sleeper. Over the years living in his Grandma’s house with its whistling window panes, creaking floorboards, and screeching staircases, he’d had his fair share of unpleasant awakenings. He wasn’t sure if waking up to a terrified Coraline was unpleasant because it was startling, or unpleasant because it was a terrified Coraline. Regardless, Wybie did his best to reach his walkie-talkie, his body and hands floundering around his bedsheets as he attempted to grab the machine next to his bed. He continued to fumble as his hands finally attached themselves to the walkie-talkie, and Wybie let out a hurried and concerned response.

“Coraline? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” His voice was shaky and scratchy in his newly awakened state, the words tumbling out over each other in a rush as he attempted to parse out the source of Coraline’s fears. “O-over!” He didn’t want to forget proper walkie-talkie etiquette.

“Oh thank God, Wybie, you’re here,” Coraline let out a shaky sigh on the other end, one Wybie recognized to be of pure relief. He knew Coraline’s sigh had released a portion of her worry which, as a result, cleared Wybie of some of his own. “I… I had another nightmare.”

_Oh no, not another one._

They started a few months after her experience with the Other World. At least, that’s when Coraline had first started opening up to him about them. They had slowed down a lot over the summer, but once winter had begun to approach, they began to get worse. Way worse. Wybie knew that he didn’t understand the full extent of her nightmares, but recently Coraline had been saying that her nightmares kept up after she woke up. As-in, she wasn’t sure she was out of the dream-state when she was awake. Wybie had offered his assistance in any way he could think of with her nightmare situation, but Coraline had continually shrugged it off after the fact. ‘ _It’s not that bad; I’m fine. I can deal with it,’_ was a phrase that he knew all too well from her. He nearly shuddered to think of how bad her night terror had to have been for her to finally break down and call him. Centering his vision on his alarm clock, he amended that thought. To finally break down and call him at two-thirty in the morning

“Wybie? Are… you still there?” Coraline’s voice trembled again. _Crap,_ he thought. _This was the worst time to be silent for once!_

“I-I’m here! I’m here!” He might’ve been a bit too loud with his hasty reply. “What do you want me to do?” He couldn’t even see her, and yet he still hated to even hear her like this. She sounded frightened, beaten-down, small. Before she could even answer the question, Wybie’s brain was forming an idea.

“Would you… just… stay on the line for a while?” It nearly sounded like Coraline Jones was begging. Wybie had no time to ponder on that subject, however.

“Yeah, ‘course.” His reply came soft and steady, if not still slightly hurried. Wybie was wide awake now. He had concocted one of his foolproof plans, and it was sure to bring the Coraline Jones he knew back from whatever nightmare she was trapped in. The only caveat was making sure he’d be able to do so without his Grandma waking up. But, even if she did, that was an issue he would just have to deal with after the fact. 

Walkie-Talkie etiquette was thrown out of the window as Wybie attempted to keep Coraline’s spirits high-ish and her mind off of whatever terror she was in at the moment. Taking great care to keep his voice soft and soothing, he began to recount any interesting stories he could recall as he simultaneously put on his warm trench coat. It was remarkably difficult considering he only had use of one hand at a time, with the other holding firm to the Talkie part of the Walkie-Talkie. Slipping on his signature gloves in a similar manner, then his shoes, he tiptoed in rushed almost-silence.

“Okay Jonesy, I’m gonna go quiet, but I’ll be back quick. Promise. Just radio over if you get worried, ok? I’ll make sure to answer.”

\---

Coraline heaved a quivering sigh when Wybie answered her call. He talked; he was real… she was real. She had to be. Still, the terror she had carried when she awoke had not fully dissipated with that conformation. The pit in her stomach had taken root and grew more fear within her. How could she be sure? Wybie’s voice could be nothing but mimicry. A viceroy, not a monarch. If she dropped her guard now, she could be flying right into the flame. Still, hearing his voice brought her comfort. His tone was unusually delicate, in place of its typical boisterous and animated nature. 

By the time she had zoned back in to listen to the actual words Wybie was saying rather than just his voice, she could faintly hear the rustling of fabric and the zipping of a jacket or something akin to it. He was telling her some story about a mishap he’d had while doing repairs on his motorbike, and Coraline became more aware of her light chuckling and the familiar pull at the corners of her mouth. Her heart began to beat in-time once more with her breathing. The bed began to look more normal. Then, suddenly, Wybie had gone quiet. 

This brought Coraline back to full attention, frantically sorting through half-recollections of what had just transpired. As she pieced together Wybie’s comforting words, the sudden pent-up tension she had created began to subside once more. He would be back; he never really left.

\---

Wybie had never been the best at multitasking, but, in this instance, he put all of his effort into keeping rapt attention on his goals and surroundings. Number one: don’t wake Grandma up. Number two: make sure Coraline is safe. Number three: focus on not letting the milk boil over.

One of the first things Wybie had noted when he woke up --aside from everything Coraline, of course-- was just how bitter the cold was this early in the morning. Both he and Coraline tried to keep their windows open, in case Cat needed a place to sleep. He had awoken with goosebumps running down his arms, even under the warmth of two layers of blankets. All that is to say, Wybie had got his sights on making hot chocolate. 

“It’s comforting,” he reaffirmed to himself in hushed tones. “People like hot chocolate. It’s warm and it’s soothing and Coraline is a person so it’ll help her.” Wybie began to continue his train of thought when he caught a nearly-boiling saucepan filled with milk and rushed to turn the stove off. He shuffled through the spice cabinet, pulling out different ingredients in a flurry, but made sure to close the cabinet door slowly so as not to alert his Grandma. He was just finishing up pouring Coraline’s hot chocolate into a thermos when her voice came through the radio. It still sounded too-small, but her tone was getting lighter, more hopeful. 

“Wybie? Are you-”

\---

“I’m right here, Jonesy. Don’t worry.” 

Coraline Jones was decidedly not worrying. She had simply been counting the seconds since everything became more ok, taking breaths as deep as she could possibly muster and attempting to make the bedroom correct again from the safety of her bed. An ‘ _I’m fine, Wybie’_ attempted to make its way out of her mouth before Wybie started up again. 

“Actually, I’m just finishing up. Listen, I’m coming over. Right away. I’ll be there in five.” The line went quiet again. _Wait,_ _he’s coming here? What was he planning?_ Posing those questions seemed futile, so Coraline resigned herself to sitting and waiting some more. She tried to start counting again, and for a while, it worked. 

Until it didn’t.

She lost count at some point. Maybe 146? 152? She wasn’t quite sure. Wybie had just called her though; he would be here soon. Wait, how long had it been? Wybie’s words felt far away and long ago. This all felt wrong, this still felt wrong. Nothing felt real. Everything was wr-

Coraline’s head jerked toward the window, where a small pebble had just rebounded at the center of the pane.

“Coraline?” The Walkie-Talkie in her hand boomed once more with new life. “Are you there?”

“I’m here.”

“Good.”

\---

Wybie had sped off as fast as his bike had allowed getting to Coraline’s house. In his lap, a small bag containing the Walkie Talkie, two thermoses, and a couple of blankets. As he rode downhill towards Coraline, he couldn’t get her voice out of his head. All of its usual power and energy had been drained, leaving something small and wavering in its place. It nearly made him sick. So, as best as he could, Wybie put it out of his mind for the time being. Instead, he mulled his plan over again. He would get Coraline’s attention, and when he had it, he would make sure it never wavered away to whatever evil had made her voice -no, her presence- so meek. Wybie had a pretty good idea of what that aforementioned evil was, but he wasn’t about to bring it up. Certainly not now. He began to slow his speed as he neared Coraline’s house. It had been almost a year, but Grandma was still wary about letting Wybie hang around The Pink Palace. He slowed to a stop right in front of the steps, taking care to quietly prop his bike on the side of the stairs. Reaching into the bag and pulling out the Walkie-Talkie, he radioed over to Coraline.

“Jonesey?” He inquired into the radio.

No response.

“Jonesy, hello?” He tried again but to no avail. _Maybe she can’t hear me,_ he thought. Looking around his surroundings, he found a plethora of small pebbles. An idea struck him, and he scooped up a couple of the little stones and positioned his body for the throw. The first rock hit just below the rim of the window. The second landed squarely in the middle of the center window pane. If that hadn’t gotten her attention, Wybie figured he would radio over again for good measure. 

“Coraline?” He asked again. This time, however, he was greeted by her voice, now more full of strength. Moments later, a head of blue hair made its way to open the window Wybie had hit. 

“Whad’ya do that for?” At her comment, Wybie felt a small smile bloom on his face. Her voice was filled with annoyance and energy, like the Coraline he knew. 

“You weren’t answering!” Wybie shrugged as he felt his head tilt to the right, an unconscious response he had tried his best to quell. _Come on, Wybie. You’ve got her attention, now keep it._ He grabbed the bag now hanging on one of the bike handles and held it up for her to see. “I’ve got hot chocolate!”

\----

“Oh,” Coraline replied, eyes widening. He had come over with hot chocolate and, by the looks of it, a blanket or two as well. Neither of them said anything further for a moment, and then, Coraline opened the furthest right window and climbed out onto the roof. 

She wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, but some part of her mind had determined that the lower roof of The Pink Palace was the perfect place to have hot chocolate. To her left, she heard Wybie attempt to stifle a gasp and a shriek.

“Jonesy!” He all but hissed at her. “What’re you doing?”

Instead of an answer, Coraline motioned for him to come over with her right hand, while her left worked on slowly inching downwards toward the edge of the roof. Wybie, bag in hand, crept up the white-painted metal stairs on the side of The Palace. He stopped two steps above the first landing and turned to face Coraline, who had made her way to the edge and was now dangling her legs off the side.

“Oh no. No, no, no. Jonesy, I’m not doing that.” Wybie’s eyebrows were raised and his hands shook in opposition, but his eyes betrayed his dismissal. After a couple of seconds and Coraline’s puppy-dog eyes, however, Wybie relented. “Ok, ok, fine. Just- here, pull this up.” He stepped forward and attached the handles of the bag to Coraline’s foot. She raised it up, placing the bag by her side. 

“Come on, Wyborn.” Coraline bent over and held out her hand, waiting for Wybie to take it.

“Yeah, I will, just…” Wybie’s voice drifted off, and he began to wring his hands. It was his usual tell for when he was anxious or overthinking something.

“You’ll be fine, Wybie.” Coraline scoffed slightly to cover up the fondness in her voice and thrust her hand out further.

\---

Coraline’s hand reached towards him farther now, and Wybie took it. Instantaneously, he felt himself being yanked upwards and towards the roof, letting out a small yelp as he readied himself for impact. Reaching the eaves of the roof, Wybie pulled himself up. As he steadied himself in his new position on the lower rooftop of the Pink Palace, he turned his head slightly to glance over at the blue-haired girl who had helped him up. She was watching him carefully, but her eyes still seemed far-away. He set out to distract her with another story, but he barely got a sentence out before she responded with the question he hadn’t asked her.

“I’m fine, Wybie.” Wybie nearly scoffed.

“Y’know, Coraline, you say that a lot, but I’m having a hard time believing you.” He narrowed his eyes at her, hoping his disapproving would come across in the light of the moon.

He turned his head away from reciprocating her gaze and continued.“I… I get why you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, hands fidgeting with the roof tiles. “B-but you shouldn’t just shrug it off. I’m here for you. You know that, right? I care about you. I don’t want you waking up like that. O-or having nightmares like that!” Wybie brought his gaze down even lower and took in a deep breath, talking slowly, careful not to trip over his words. “So, just talk to me, ok? I don’t want you to carry everything alone. You shouldn’t.”

By the time Wybie looked back towards Coraline again, her eyes hadn’t drifted from him. Her expression was hidden by the night, but he could’ve sworn he saw a small smile on Coraline’s face as she held one of the thermoses out towards him. 

He took it, and she began to speak.

Coraline had told Wybie the truth of the Other World long ago, and Wybie even had a couple bits of knowledge of his own, but Coraline rarely spoke of the after. How for weeks after she had made sure at least one of her parents was in her line of sight at all times. How the sight of needles and buttons could still make her hair stand on edge. How sometimes she would wake up from a nightmare that felt all-too-real, only to be met with surroundings that felt anything but. And the nightmares, those dreadful things that would haunt her in the night and wait for her like an old friend in the day.

Wybie’s blankets were bundled snugly around himself and Coraline, their thermoses long-emptied. As she spoke, Wybie would hum or murmur to express his attention, occasionally interjecting with questions or statements. But, for the most part, he just listened. He came to understand.

At some point in the early hours of the morning, they had both fallen asleep again. They had eventually migrated from the lower roof back into Coraline’s room, and when Wybie finally awoke again to sunlight streaming through the window, he was curled up under a blanket on Coraline’s bedroom floor. Coraline herself was sprawled out on the floor as well, lying on her side with a peaceful expression on her face. Wybie sat up and gently placed his own blanket over her, content with just absorbing the moment.

Wybie’s Grandma had indeed been an issue he would have to deal with in the morning. When she had awoken to find a house without Wybie in it, the first people she called in her fright had been Mel and Charlie Jones, who were shocked to discover that the missing boy had been at their house for an unknown amount of time. Needless to say, Grandma was furious.

Still, even in his sleep-deprived state as he rode back to his house where he would certainly receive a stern talking-to and some sort of grounding, Wybie considered it worth it. For Coraline’s small smiles and peaceful sleep.

\---

When Coraline had eventually awoken, she was met with two furious parents and one frightened Wybie. The mood shifted drastically, however, when the topic of cooking was brought up and her father and Wybie had instantly bonded over discussing flavor profiles of breakfast combinations.

As she watched Wybie ride back off towards his house from the steps of the Pink Palace, Coraline had considered the events of the early morning. Everything had been wrong, and then Wybie had talked. Wybie had been real. Wybie had appeared at her window, solid and clear and real, and the world began to right itself again. She spoke, possibly for the first time, about the nightmares, about the distortion she would see in the world, and with every nod from Wybie’s head, the more normal everything became. She stood there for minutes after Wybie had vanished from her line of sight, considering everything. 

Even in her sleep-addled state, as she realized that when she returned inside her house she would certainly be hammered with questions she wouldn’t fully be able to answer and would definitely receive some form of grounding, she considered it worth it. For Wybie’s hot chocolate and comforting presence.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, thank you for reading! It's really early when I'm posting this and I'm sure I have some grammatical errors so I'll review and revise later. I'd really appreciate any comments on my work! (Let me know if you think my characterization sucks or I'm wordy but in a good way or something)
> 
> Anyway, I just wanted to add in here that I hope I at least somewhat correctly displayed what derealization feels like and such :)  
> Ok have a good day <3


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